Blossom Time by Joan Smith Page A

party.
    In the saloon, Rosalind turned a troubled face to Dick. “I do hope she doesn’t turn Miss Rafferty off. I think we were very fortunate to get her.”
    “She’ll not turn her off. I am still the master here, and I am very well satisfied with Syl—Miss Rafferty.” On this firm speech, Dick rose and strode angrily to his study.
    Rosalind felt a stab of apprehension. Perhaps Dick was becoming too fond of Miss Rafferty. Rosalind hadn’t noticed it, but no doubt a fiancée was more attuned to such things. Perhaps Annabelle had seen that wink as Miss Rafferty left. She must warn Dick to be more discreet.
    It was odd, too, that Dick had no objection to Lord Sylvester staying with the Fortescues when Annabelle was quite obviously infatuated with him— or his title. Rosalind herself had no worry on that score. Lord Sylvester would have nothing in common with Annabelle. She feared he would not find any of the Fortescues congenial, but it was only for one night.
     

Chapter Eleven
     
    Annabelle was once again at Apple Hill when Lord Sylvester returned in five days’ time, as promised. In fact, she had been there since half past one, and he did not arrive until four. She was extremely eager to get home and keep an eye on the party preparations, almost as eager as her hostess was to be rid of her.
    Rosalind noticed at once that Sylvester’s exultation at having met Coleridge had worn off. He wore a petulant face when he stepped into the saloon. It struck her that he looked like a sulky little boy, closer to twelve than twenty-two. There was no deluge of poetic quotations expressing his pleasure at seeing her again.
    “Good day, Miss Lovelace,” he said, and made one of his exquisite bows.
    “How was your visit to Astonby?” she asked, when he had spoken to Annabelle and was seated in the saloon.
    “Not so fruitful as I had hoped,” he replied curtly. “Papa refused to advance me any of my money to run Camena. My own money, mind you! Oh, don’t worry that I shall have to close down entirely. Lady Amanda has expressed some interest, though I am not sure it would be wise to accept anything from her. And of course, the subscriptions are picking up every day. We shall pull through, but I had hoped to enlarge the magazine and upgrade the quality of the presentation and articles. You have to pay the established writers a decent price to contribute something. And of course, there is advertising. One cannot rely entirely on word of mouth. The advertising does not come cheap.”
    “All that takes a little time,” Rosalind said supportively.
    “Indeed it does, and a deal of work. At least it is all arranged about your flat. Papa says the painters have left, so you can move in anytime it suits you. You will want to see about furnishings and so on.” He mentioned a rent that was not only reasonable but a bargain.
    Annabelle sat listening, with every fiber of her being wishing that flat in London were to be hers. That she were the one to share Sylvester’s troubles, two city creatures, struggling together.
    “And now I must be getting on,” he said, rising. “I shall be in London by nightfall if I get away early. I am sorry to dash off so quickly, Miss Lovelace, but soon we will be together for long visits.”
    Until this point, Annabelle had been sitting, quietly listening. At this speech, she was suddenly thrown into a tizzy.
    “Oh, Lord Sylvester, you cannot leave today! I have planned a dinner especially in your honor!”
    Sylvester received this news with considerable astonishment, and very little pleasure. In fact, with an air of pique. How should she have planned a party for him when they were virtual strangers, and to do it without even making sure he would be here at the time?
    “I’m sorry if it inconveniences you, Miss—” What was the chit’s name? “Miss Montague.”
    “Fortescue,” she said. “I am engaged to Miss Lovelace’s brother, you recall. Oh, but you must stay! I have promised all my